


Level

by loversandmadmen



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Clint Barton Feels, Deaf Clint Barton, Post-Battle of New York (Marvel)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-19
Updated: 2014-09-19
Packaged: 2018-02-18 01:10:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 807
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2329760
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/loversandmadmen/pseuds/loversandmadmen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the Battle of New York, Clint Barton still has trouble leveling out sometimes. A one-shot that will probably bum you out. Sorry.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Level

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ThoughtfulConstellations](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThoughtfulConstellations/gifts).



_Blood. Blood of agents, of allies, of friends. Blood all over Clint’s hands. Blood on his knife, blood on his arrows. Blood in his hair and in his eyes and gushing everywhere. Blood, Natasha’s blood, Natasha’s blood flowing from her stomach as tears and sweat ran down her face, her horrified face, and she was gone and she was gone and she was gone just as he realized –_

Clint woke suddenly, flat on his back, sweat pouring down his face. It took him a moment before he could actually move, but when his limbs finally responded, everything went into overdrive. He had to move, he had to get away. 

He managed to roll out of bed, more clumsily than usual, and he made his way to the kitchen. In the dark and the utter silence, everything he felt grew far more intense. He knew what it felt like to have a panic attack, and he knew he had to get a handle on himself before it got out of control. Fumbling a bit, he managed to reach a glass and fill it with water from the tap, but he could only get one sip before the wet glass slipped from his grip and shattered all over the counter and floor. 

And that was it. Clint went over the edge. He felt control slipping away as he tried to gather the shards of glass from the floor, dropping them and cutting his fingers a bit. Seeing the blood only reminded him of his nightmare. He was so consumed by the images in his head that when he felt a hand on his shoulder, he acted without thinking and whirled around, throwing an expert punch despite his panicked state, and feeling it collide with…

“Oh, God…” he croaked out as he realized that the person he had attacked was Natasha. 

Feeling nauseous, Clint leaned against the counter and tried to find the light switch. He clicked on the dim light that hung over the stove, tripping as he moved, and took a step towards Natasha to inspect the damage. She held her hand to her cheek and stepped back instinctively when Clint moved in her direction, looking scared. Clint had only seen Natasha look scared a handful of times, and certainly never because of something he had done. She looked like a frightened little girl, like the child she had never gotten to be. 

“Nat, I’m…”

Clint couldn’t find the words. Ever the professional, however, Natasha gained control over her expression and simply nodded. Clint reached out a quaking hand to her, though it was admittedly more for his benefit than hers. Natasha took it cautiously, looking at Clint the way she eyed her targets on a mission. He hated it. 

Sudden wooziness took over and Clint felt himself drifting to the floor in a heap, slowed slightly by Natasha’s quick thinking. An angry red mark had begun to form against her cheekbone. Seeing that Clint had noticed it, she casually reached up and ran her fingers through her hair, hiding the spot from his view. Clint couldn’t bring himself to appreciate it. 

“Go lie down. I’ll get this,” said Natasha, gesturing to the glass, but keeping her eyes trained on Clint’s face. “Go.”

Clint made it as far as the fire escape. He climbed out, breathing in the cool night air and the smell of New York. Though he had long since gotten used to living in near-silence, it still sometimes felt odd to be looking out at the city and not hear the rush of traffic, the loud conversations on the street, the sound of trash cans being knocked over and dogs barking…it could be oppressive at times, being forced to be in his own head and unable to tune out thoughts with noise. He felt a surge of panic threaten to overtake him again, and he covered his face with his hands and let out a yell, a long roar that came from somewhere deep within. He felt the scream get louder, felt his throat shredding. When he finally finished, he leaned against the railing on the fire escape, breathing deeply, trying to steady himself. Screaming felt good, like it was exactly what he was supposed to do, but it left him drained. He turned to see Natasha peering out the window at him. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, hoping his voice made any sound. 

“Come on,” said Natasha. 

Clint came back inside and gently put a hand to Natasha’s face where he had hit her. She smiled a little, indicating that she was just fine. Clint went to try and hug her, but it was awkward for the first time in their history. Natasha went right when he went left, and the embrace was only half as long as normal. Something had changed between them.


End file.
